


Lassiter Takes a Shot in the Dark

by sebviathan



Series: in between the lines (there's a lot of obscurity) [8]
Category: Psych
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, lassie's being his guarded angsty self and shawn needs a hug, s04e09 shawn takes a shot in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Shawn is recovering from his gunshot wound, Lassiter pays him a visit.</p>
<p>(If he waits until Spencer leaves the hospital to see or speak to him again, he’ll never have any closure with all of this. It’ll haunt him until the guy does something stupid again and actually <i>does</i> die.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lassiter Takes a Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place, of course, shortly after Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark.

Spencer's going to be fine, the doctors say. The bullet didn't hit any major arteries, nor did it hit his clavicle straight on, so there's minimal bone shattering. A couple weeks in the hospital, then about three months in a sling, and he should be good as new. In fact, the worst problem seems to be the blood loss and the possibility of infection from the rags MacQuarrie put on the wound.

(That's what the doctors say, and it's what both Spencers say, but he knows from experience that the worst problem is going to be the _pain_ , if it hasn't been already.)

Aside from being there when he's initially taken to the hospital, Carlton doesn't visit. He makes excuses when Juliet asks _—_ that he's busier than the rest of them, grilling Rollins and figuring out the details of his trial and whatnot. That the fewer people hounding him in his room, the sooner Spencer will recover. That hospitals just smell bad and he'd rather avoid it.

Truthfully, he's scared to see him, and he can't imagine that no one suspects so.

Really, he's afraid that it'll just be awkward. He'll feel inclined to either behave completely unlike himself and openly worry, which would be too telling, or to be even more guarded than usual. Which would just make him seem like a dick.

Anything he'd be willing to say in front of other people wouldn't be worth saying, anyway. And anything worth saying is buried so deep down he isn't sure he'll ever say it in his lifetime.

More than anything, Carlton is afraid to see him like that. He'd just be uncomfortable, standing there while Spencer's in a hospital gown, horizontal and with tubes attached to him. He can't imagine that Spencer's the sort of person to enjoy people surrounding him while he's so vulnerable anyway, so really, this is in both of their interests.

Just because he's scared, though, doesn't mean he doesn't _want_ to be there.

Everyone else has gone to see him at least a couple times by the end of the week, he's sure. Henry and Gus have likely spent as much time as possible at the hospital, and Juliet has gone on some of her breaks. And his girlfriend, too, no doubt.

(He tries not to think about it, tries not to wonder how she'll react to the gritty reality of Spencer's job, if she'll be so worried that he gives it up for her. He doesn't try so hard not to hope that she'll break up with him.)

It's not that Carlton feels he should be doing what everyone else is doing, it's _really_ not. He knows they're judging him, he knows they probably believe that he's an unempathetic asshole or bottles up his feelings too much for his own good or something, but none of that matters. Whether they believe he cares or not doesn't matter.

What does matter is that Spencer got shot, and Carlton can't stop thinking about how close he came to dying.

And he knows that if he waits until Spencer leaves the hospital to see or speak to him again, he'll never have any closure with all of this. It'll haunt him until the guy does something stupid again and actually _does_ die.

So he makes sure no one else will be there. He drives by Henry's house to make sure the truck is in the driveway, and he goes to the hospital past visiting hours when no one is allowed in except patients, family, staff, and _—_

"Police." He shows the receptionist his badge, and she seems vaguely skeptical (or at least annoyed) as she gives him Spencer's room number.

If she's any kind of snitch, she'll call the department and Vick will find out that he's taking advantage of his power, but he's willing to risk it.

The anxiety only kicks in once he's opening the door, but he does it, and _—_ Spencer's bed is the closest to the door. And from here it's pretty obvious that he's asleep.

Shit. He can't do this.

Just seeing him like that now is surreal, and it feels like he's intruding in spite of the other patient on the other side of the room. Did he really not consider the possibility that Spencer might not be awake when he got here? What's he supposed to do _—_ just wake him up, hinder his healing in the process, and tell him he wants to talk?

...What was he even planning to say?

Carlton stands in front of the door and stares far too long before deciding that this was a mistake, or that he should at least try another evening and hope he'll be awake then. Right as he's got the door handle turned halfway, however _—_

"Lassie?"

Of course he would wake up _now_.

And now he has no choice but to let go of the door and turn back around. When he makes it to the side of the bed, Spencer finishes blinking himself into consciousness and mumbles,

"You could've come during actual visiting hours, y'know. Unless you came here to sit by my bedside and hold my hand? Which is sweet and all, but unless there's some freak accident with a scalpel I don't think I'm gonna die."

He then smirks in a way that makes Carlton feel like he sees right through him. So Carlton scowls back.

"You know what, I forgot why I came here," he says, not even entirely lying.

And he promptly tries to turn around again and leave, but Spencer grabs his hand. His instincts tell him to jerk away, but when he looks down, the guy looks much more sincere than a moment ago.

"Could it be because you care about me, and that me getting shot made you realize you needed to say it before it's too late?"

Now that just makes him _angrier_ _—_ he's much more positive that it's a stupid joke and that Spencer's playing with his feelings on purpose, despite how serious he looks in the face. It's not like he hasn't done this kind of shit before.

And now he does jerk away, but he doesn't keep walking.

"Fuck you, Spencer," he spits. "You're not a cop. You don't get to do shit like this _—_ you can't just... go on some stupid investigation when you have no training, no _weapon_ , and expect us to save your ass every time. Do you even spare a _moment_ to think about anyone else before you do something reckless and put yourself in danger like that _—_?"

"I already got this talk from my dad, Lassiter. I don't need it from you, too." He glares up at him from the hospital bed, and somehow it comes across much better than the smirk. "I get it, I'm selfish. But I'm an adult and I'm good at what I do _—_ you _saw_ me, Lassie! Surviving this was skill, not luck."

_A little common sense and there would have been nothing to survive in the first place,_ is what he would say if he wasn't suddenly remembering _—_ not just Spencer, on the hood of his car, shooting out Rollins's radiator with impeccable aim, but the older Spencer. Telling him about what he taught his son as a kid.

"...Henry said he trained you for this," he says, calmly, instead.

Spencer grimaces. "When I was twelve. I gotta say, I'm actually glad, now, that that day didn't go to waste. I missed the premiere of Saved By the Bell because I was in the woods, running zig-zags until my dad was satisfied..."

Even if Henry hadn't told him directly, Carlton would know it's not a lie. He can see it.

"It's good that he thought that worthwhile to teach you..." Spencer raises an eyebrow at him. "But also a little fucked up."

"I'm surprised you see it that way," he says with a slight laugh. "And I mean. It is fucked up and it _was_ fucked up at the time, but... shit, Lass, it wasn't even just that. It was everything else and it still might not have even helped... I thought I was going to die."

He's still smiling when he says it, at which Carlton frowns and his heart drops.

"Spenc _—_ "

"I really did, Lassie. The guy _—_ Rollins _—_ he had the gun, and I had just made the call which meant I was officially more trouble than I was worth. And he was mad and I could just _sense_ it _—_ and not even in a psychic way, that's not what I'm saying," he adds at the shift in Carlton's expression. "I'm saying that every other time I've had a gun pointed at me, I knew they wouldn't pull the trigger until worst comes to worst. I can tell when someone's angry enough to kill, and I know when I'm in a situation where that has a high chance of happening. Hell, even any knife fights I've gotten into were nothing like this _—_ at least then I have a _chance_. But this... everything about it told me that I was about to get shot in the face, Lassie. When I heard the gunshot I couldn't even register that Mac was the one shot at first _—_ I thought I _was_ dead."

The look in Spencer's eyes makes him positive that he hasn't told this to anyone else. Naturally it makes him wonder _—_ _why me?_

(As much as his stomach twists at the thought of not only what might have happened, but also what Spencer went through, he can't help but feel better knowing that the man does have _some_ regard for his own mortality.)

He would just ask why Spencer is telling him of all people, but with only a second of thought he thinks he knows: because Carlton's the only other person, save perhaps his dad, who would even understand.

"Well, you're alive," is what he tells him instead, gruffly and with a small nod. _And I'd appreciate it if you stayed that way._ "But if you haven't already, you're going to _—_ "

"Have nightmares? Ha, yeah. I know."

"Yeah."

He didn't really expect Spencer to need Trauma 101, but now he doesn't know what to say. So there's a bit of a pause. In fact, he almost thinks Spencer might have fallen back asleep until _—_

"I still can't believe you called me _Detective_."

"That's because I didn't," he shoots back reflexively.

"Did so."

"Did not."

"You openly respected me for a second and there's nothing you can do to erase it, Lassie."

His tone is taunting, but his grin is more just... happy. Or at least loopy on pain meds. Carlton can't help but stare regardless.

"...Maybe I can't." He doesn't know why he gives up so easily. "You should go back to sleep."

"Why?"

"Because you're tired and there's a hole in your shoulder?"

"That's... fair. Okay. Um _—_ " Spencer coughs and screws up his face for a second. "Hey, I appreciate that you came. If you were shot I'd sneak in after visiting hours to see you, too."

Okay, he must be _really_ tired.

Carlton nods, takes a deep breath (of relief?), and turns to finally leave. But once again before he can, Spencer grabs his hand. A little tighter this time.

"What, Spencer?"

"Can you stay?"

Oh.

He seems serious enough, but he's also tired. And on pain meds. And... _god_ , some part of him wants to, to simply sit and hold his hand while he sleeps, and make sure he's all right even though there's no reason to worry _—_ but Spencer can't possibly want that. Not genuinely. There's no guarantee that he won't get mad or laugh at Carlton later (and he doesn't know which would be worse).

But he's squeezing his hand and pulling him closer with whatever strength he has in that arm, and Carlton's actually considering it for a second, and... this is one of the reasons he was afraid to come.

"My badge doesn't let me stay here all night, Spencer." It's certainly not a fake excuse, though without it he would have no other objective reason. "I should go."

Carlton waits for him to drop his hand before turning away for good.

 

*

 

Rollins is on a charge of conspiracy to commit grand larceny, the severe injury of one man, murder of another, and attempted murder of a third. That is, Shawn.

The trial seems stupid to him _—_ there's no doubt he's done all the stuff, so he can't possibly plead innocent, so shouldn't he just go to prison and be done with it? Murder got you life, the last he checked, and all the other crimes on top of it should reasonably keep Rollins in prison forever.

But apparently, the guy is trying for the possibility of parole, his reasons being that the murder of MacQuarrie was a crime of passion and that he "never intended to kill Shawn Spencer."

Which is a load of bull, but they need his testimony to prove it.

Frankly, he wanted to be done with this whole thing as soon as he got out of the hospital. His arm's been in a sling for a month, he has to set aside money to afford a prescription of vicodin, and he's got a whole new recurring nightmare topic. Naturally he's irritable and he'd just rather put it all behind him.

There's one thing, at least, that makes the summons not so bad: Lassiter is there, and he hasn't seen him since he originally went to the hospital.

Or perhaps a bit later.

As soon as the court is in recess, Shawn takes the chance and dashes into the halls, and spots the man in question near some drinking fountains. Alone, without Juliet or any other cops. _That's odd._

"Lassie!" he calls out before crossing the hallway, careful to avoid bumping into anyone with his bad arm.

"...Spencer," he greets, somewhat awkwardly. This is probably where he would ask what the hell he's doing here, if he didn't already know. Or tell him to go away, if he didn't actually have every right to be here.

"Are you testifying today?"

"No, um _—_ I already did that. Been cross-examined and everything." He looks like he can see where this is going.

Shawn smirks. "Are you here to watch me on the witness bench, then?"

"Of course not," he snaps. But not quickly enough. "I led this case _—_ I'd want to sit in for the whole trial even if I wasn't obligated to."

"Oh. Well, how'd I do?"

"Hm?"

"Testifying. How d'you think I did? Thorough enough to make sure he won't get time off, right?"

It probably sounds a little more desperate than he means it to, judging by the look on Lassiter's face. (He likes it when the guy looks less than stoic or angry, but anything's better than _that_ look. It's pity.)

"We probably shouldn't discuss that in the courthouse, Spencer."

For once, he agrees and shuts his mouth. Not for long, though.

"Hey, um... when I was in the hospital for this," he gestures to his arm sling, "did you... come visit me in the middle of the night? Or did I dream that?"

(He knows the truth; he just wants to see what Lassiter will tell him. And to see the brief look of panic in his eyes before the man can get his composure back _—_ meanwhile Shawn himself just smiles with innocent curiosity.)

If Lassie's smart enough, he'll see right through it.

"You must've dreamed it, Spencer," he ultimately lies, though considerably well _—_ with an even voice and everything. Maybe he expected this situation and rehearsed it.

"...Oh." Shawn frowns, but it's for show. "Yeah, I guess I did. Well, I don't think I'm required to be here anymore, so I'll catch you on the flip-side, Lass."

He turns to leave, hears a faint "sure" from the man behind him, and smirks, Lassiter probably doesn't know it, but he appreciates the lie.


End file.
